Something Blue
by attica
Summary: "Newt! I'm so happy you came," Tina exclaims, immediately getting to her feet, her smile wide and her dark eyes dancing. Newt rests his weight back on his right heel, overwhelmed by the vibrato of his racing heart. A man stands up next to her, broad-shouldered and grinning. "This is Charles," Tina gestures, and Newt feels his pulse staccato through his legs. "My fiancé." Newtina.
1. Part 1

Something Blue

Part 1

In the seven months Newt Scamander spends waiting for his manuscript's revisions (and then the revisions of his revisions) to clear with his publisher, he comes close. Newt comes close numerous times.

For every letter he's written Tina, there are a dozen more of them written and discarded - drafts full of crossed out, clumsy words, and late night ramblings that inspired shreds of bravery to attempt to turn his feelings into words, such as:

 _I must admit the thought of you crosses my mind more often than my creatures would like. Thoughts of you distract me while I'm preparing their feed, or compel me to daydream when I'm on a rigid schedule for a new experimental, medicinal treatment for the Murtlaps. I do not doubt my creatures sense a change in me – after all, their skills in observation far exceed those of humans, magical and Muggle alike. If they were able to gather themselves and start some sort of an intervention, I am certain it would have happened by now._

 _I don't like New York, not really. There are too many people, the smog in the air is too thick to be good for anyone to be inhaling on a daily basis, there are too many tall buildings to see a proper sunrise, and not nearly enough animals. But I'm afraid New York has folded itself into you - your smile, your clear-eyed logic, your adorably concerned brow, your goodness - to the point that separation is almost impossible. New York by itself is tolerable in small doses, at best. But New York with you, Tina Goldstein, is paradise._

 _The truth is, I'm not good with words – not with people. Most creatures can't read, and those that can have no interest in self-promotion, and so they are easily forgiving. I'm quite fluent in writing about the proper care and extraordinary abilities of animals, and most days, I'll be the first to admit that I prefer it over the labors of regular human conversation. I apologize if my effort here has proven itself ridiculous by nature, and my analogies heavy-handed or nonsensical. But the effort is worth it for you to know, and to not doubt, for one second, my feelings for you, that only grow stronger by the day._

 _I'm besotted with you, Porpentina Goldstein. I'm besotted with your pragmatism, your curiosity, your determination to abide by your moral code. I long to see you smile at me again the way you did at the dock. The memory of it tides me over, but it only makes me crave to stand in the presence of the real thing. You. Emphatically, indisputable you. Just you._

Newt rereads it, and, startling his creatures nearby, laughs aloud to himself. He is almost mad enough to send it – _almost_. Instead, he folds it up and tucks it away.

He starts a new letter.

 _Dear Tina._

He responds to her queries and tells her more about the creatures he's been able to rescue. He does not mention his thoughts of New York, nor does he write a word about how excruciating the wait has become for him to hear back from her again. It is this letter he sends off.

Newt comes close numerous times, but here, in real life, close doesn't count.

ooo

Nobody expects the success that follows his book's release, and thus it behooves absolutely nobody to warn Newt about the dangers of rapid, cataclysmic fame. It is this sudden fame that causes him to postpone his promised trip to New York in order to fulfill the demands of his publisher, Augustus Worme. The gravity of shameless self-promotion is made clear to him by a Howler sent to him at the courtesy of Obscurus books - after one such failure to show up at one of his own events - reminding him of the contract he had signed prior to the book's release, legally binding him to all promotional and publicity events – this, of course, he had signed thinking that there would be none.

His dignity begrudgingly in tow, they traipse him around the entire continent for the next six months for speaking engagements, book signings, lectures, appearances. They plaster his face on packages of animal feed and send him sponsorship requests for creature grooming products. All of this he barely tolerates – and only does so under the constant threat of legal action by his publisher – and finds himself longing for two places, simultaneously: his quiet sanctuary with his animals, and the bustling, asphalt-colored streets of New York.

It is spring now. He wonders what Central Park looks like in the spring. More importantly, he wonders what Tina looks like in the Spring. (This then leads him to wonder what Tina looks like in every season, and if he would ever be so lucky as to bear witness to each of them.)

He autographs the last of the books for tonight's signing with little enthusiasm and barely any eye contact. It has been a long night, and Newt wants nothing more than to escape into his traveling suitcase and lock himself there, close to his creatures, and very far away from the empty flattery and silent scrutiny of humans. But tonight, Newt looks up, and he freezes. He feels his blood drain from the vessels in his face. At first he thinks it's an apparition, but it can't be, because she saunters right up to the table and slides her copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ in front of him, and she smiles.

He shivers.

It's a smile that mingles both wickedness and innocence, beauty and danger. It's a smile that defies natural law. A smile that shouldn't exist.

But it does, and now it's here.

"Hello again Newt," Leta says.

ooo

Fame, Newt now knows, brings with it relics from the past.

Leta Lestrange radiates with her own atmosphere, her own magnetic gravity – this Newt has always known. For years he had been scarred by its potency, its violent possession – and for a long time, he had misunderstood it. He was young. He thought the laws of nature and creature also applied to that of women – that proper care, warmth and affection, in time, could heal all. But if women were a different kind of creature, then Leta was a separate species all in herself. Newt reminds himself of this. He is cautious, even when blinded by her smile. But she wraps herself around him as if the time passed between them is just a matter of opinion, and she speaks to him with a familiarity that he realizes he is starved for.

"I am better now," Leta tells him. Her smile is big, nearly manic, but she is still beautiful, and there's a part of him that still aches in response. She sits across from him in a café, her arms out, as if to seize him. He stares at the cup of tea she had ordered and has not touched, not once. "I am. Let me prove it to you. Will you let me?"

It is at this moment that Newt longs for the simplicity of New York, where the only baggage he carried with him was literally what he lugged along in his hands. In New York, with its endless moving bodies, relentless drone of construction, and sprawling buildings, there had been no room for Leta. There, Newt could breathe without feeling suffocated.

But the past has claws like any other beast. Newt feels its grip around his chest, tightening.

He opens his mouth, his tongue feeling clumsy and disproportionate, the words foreign and refusing to settle. "All right," he says, and the words sink like stones to the bottom of his being.

ooo

When it happens, Newt does not expect it, nor does he notice it when it happens.

They are walking out of a restaurant when Leta reaches out and grasps his hand. The contact startles him, but he does not immediately let go. For a minute he lets his hand linger in hers, as if trying on a piece of clothing just to see how it fits. Everything about Leta had always seemed so natural to him – from her eccentricity to her wit to her ability to occupy any space in his mind, no matter how small or large. The thoughts regarding Leta were always about volume and never about substance. _Parasitic_ , Newt thinks.

Neither of them sees a flash of light in the distance, or the shadow of a crouched body slinking away.

Newt, finished with his evaluation, eventually lets go, tucking his hand into his coat pocket. He and Leta do not meet eyes.

ooo

Newt's personal journey is a slow one, absent of any fantastic overnight transformations, and instead speckled with burgeoning, quiet epiphanies. He can sense where he is in his own story, even though he is at times unsure of his own footing. He feels the distance between him and Leta, and now it no longer makes him so sad, so grieved. This new lightness has grown in a space beyond his bones - deeper - and it feels remarkably like healing. Like finally picking up his feet, and swiveling his gaze from behind him towards the horizon.

He feels all of this when she visits him in his home one night and she unceremoniously presses her lips to his. Newt is tense, a block of untouched marble before it is even so much as grazed by a breath, and he immediately thinks this should change him. This act of intimacy, of willing vulnerability – from Leta, who proficiently wielded her own powers in pushing and pulling away, this was a victory he had long sought. To deserve her love. To win it. To triumph over his own shortcomings, and be somebody's hero. No, not just somebody's – hers. Just hers. That was enough. At least – it should have been.

Once upon a time, but not anymore.

Newt moves his face away from hers, still feeling her warm breaths against his cheek. He can sense Leta's eyes, dark and almost bottomless, searching him, scrutinizing him.

"Leta," he murmurs, swallowing hard. "I've changed. New York... what happened there - it's changed me."

After a second, a smile forces itself across Leta's face, flat and wiry. She rests back on her heel, and he feels the air around him turn back to normal. "I thought you'd say that."

Newt watches her carefully as she slowly walks around the room, her motions so eerily graceful to the point of inciting slight psychological discomfort. Her hands brush against the things on his desk, as if marking them - her fingertips grazing his quills, rolls of parchment, covers of his books, trinkets from his travels. She stops in front of something he had posted above his desk weeks ago, a clipping he had carefully cut out from the Daily Cauldron, an American magical newsletter.

 _Newly Reinstated Auror Stops Illegal Creature Smuggling Ring_

Underneath the blurb is a snapshot of Tina, smiling shyly at the camera, dressed in a brown leather coat.

Newt watches the back of Leta's head as she stares at this, trying to read her thoughts. "I didn't think you liked the Auror kind," she finally says.

"I don't," he replies, quietly. "Not usually." _Just that one,_ he thinks. And his brother, sometimes.

After an infinite minute, Leta hums thoughtfully to herself. She turns back around to face him, her face unreadable, but soft. For once, Newt is okay with this. He even thinks it is merciful. "I should go."

Newt follows her to the door, watching the hem of her white dress swish against the dark, dusty wood of his floor. She turns around in his doorway, giving him a sad smile. His heart knows this smile, he thinks to himself. It is exactly this smile that has eclipsed half of his life.

"Good luck with your Auror," she tells him, half a wish and half a goodbye, and then Leta goes the way she had come in the first place – so quickly, so abruptly that Newt is left wonder if she was ever even there at all.

ooo

When Newt is finally released from Leta's spell, he notes the passage of time through the letters stacked on his desk, all unopened and awaiting reply. They are mostly from Tina. Newt notices a shift in her tone, which he can only assume is from the increasing tensions between No-Majs and wizardkind in America. The Obscurus and Grindelwald's masquerade as Percival Graves was just the beginning of the struggle to keep secrecy and peace in New York. Tina does not divulge as much in her letters, as overseas owls can be susceptible to wandering or losing their way, but what details she does not let on, Newt reads in the papers or hears from his brother, Theseus.

By the time Newt can afford a small window for a visit to New York, it is spontaneous and sudden, and he leaps at the chance. His first stop in New York is the Goldstein sisters' apartment, but the apartment is empty, likely because both Queenie and Tina were still at MACUSA. He makes his way to MACUSA headquarters next, but not before stopping by Jacob's bakery and grabbing a bite to eat. Jacob greets him politely enough, but Newt is careful and leaves quickly before a twinkle of recognition can bloom in his eye.

He is barely through the doors at MACUSA when he finds Madame President Picquery waiting for him at the top of the stairs. He's filled with both dread and alarm, glancing down at his case. _He'd fixed his closures, he was absolutely sure_ —

"Your case is fine, Mr. Scamander," Madame Picquery greets, with only a faintly reassuring smile.

"Then, may I ask – why the royal reception?" he says, nervously glancing around. "I've just come to visit a friend."

"We have eyes and ears all over New York. We got word exactly the moment you arrived." Her eyes flicker down to what he had in his coat pocket. "I am aware you have come to drop something off for Miss Goldstein. Let me escort you to her desk."

Madame Picquery begins to walk, her strides quick and determined. Newt rushes to catch up.

"Actually, I was hoping—" he starts.

"I'm afraid she's out following a lead on one of our cases. A few weeks ago, we received an anonymous tip that someone was experimentally breeding creatures here in New York and selling them on the black market. Tina was more than enthusiastic to take the lead."

Newt follows her into the elevator and then onto the eleventh floor, where the Aurors offices were gathered. Newt only spots a few Aurors, most of whom were working on paperwork, with the rest of the room occupied only by empty desks. Towards the center of the room, someone had conjured up a map of New York. Parts of the city were covered in blotches of green and red, with slowly moving dots labeled with the names of suspected creature smugglers moving along the main streets.

Madame Picquery gestures to Tina's desk. "I'll give you a few minutes to write her a note."

"That won't be necessary," he says, attempting coolness. "I can wait for her to return."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Mr. Scamander."

Newt frowns at her, clutching his suitcase tighter. "And why exactly is that?"

"I've received an urgent owl from your brother, Theseus, at the Ministry. He is asking for your immediate return to England."

She has a look in her eye that Newt recognizes, one that tells him all attempts at argument would be futile. He also now senses her urgency. He knows that his brother would not owl him – here, no less – if it didn't require his immediate attention.

Newt nods, and then grabs a parchment and quill from Tina's desk. He does not notice the copy of his book already sitting there, hidden under a mound of case files. He tucks the note inside the book and leaves the book on the center of her desk, where she can most plainly see.

 _Sorry I missed you._

Newt picks up his case and follows Madame Picquery out with haste.

ooo

It is three weeks later when Newt returns to the Ministry to see his brother after trying to quell an erupting rebellion among the giants. He is fatigued, bruised, exhausted, and is convinced he would resort to sheer wickedness just for a nice, hot cup of tea.

Luckily, Theseus has appeared to read his mind, and has a cup for him waiting in his office when he arrives. Newt sips it too quickly and it scalds his tongue, but he is too exhausted to care.

"You're quite the hero, little brother," Theseus commends him. "Did I mention how happy I am to see you back in one piece? Those giants have a strange fetish for ripping men in half. A fact I do not recall reading in your book," he says with a smirk, tapping his finger on the cover. "Maybe for the next edition. Feel free to credit your dear old brother."

Newt can only manage to half-glare at him. "They only resort to such savage acts of violence when under extreme duress, which _your men_ —"

Theseus waves his hand dismissively, his house ring catching light from his window, which only further irritates Newt. "That doesn't matter now. What matters now is that you've saved the Ministry from another catastrophic headache, and you're back home safe – a fact that you will surely write and emphasize to Mum, all right? If I get another Howler from her screaming at me why I sent you—"

"Why _did_ you send me?"

"Because," Theseus sighs, "you're the creature whisperer. The Minister said he'd have nobody else there but you. The pitfalls of being a subject matter expert, dearest Newton, is that people will ask you for favors regarding that subject matter and expect you to acquiesce as a duty to your country." Theseus frowns at him. "So don't expect this to be your last and only mission."

Newt helps himself to another cup of tea as Theseus snaps his fingers. A bundle of letters zip over, just barely missing the tip of Newt's nose.

"I almost forgot," he says. "I've had your mail forwarded to my office in your absence." Newt quickly reaches over, untying the bundle. He searches through the letters, looking for one from New York, but there is none to be found. For a second, this stuns him, and he wonders if perhaps his brother had misplaced some of his mail.

"Is this all of it?" Newt asks.

"I think so," Theseus says. "I've been having Belinda collect them."

Newt sighs tightly to himself and gets up. He thinks he'll check in on his animals, go for a nice soak in the tub, and sleep for three weeks straight.

His brother calls him back even before he's out the door.

"I've been meaning to ask you about this. I didn't get a chance before because – well, urgent matters, and such. I don't expect you've seen this, because you despise most forms of human media." His brother hands him a magazine. Newt stares at the photograph on the cover with its garish headline, and his hand clenches at his side.

"I don't normally read that stuff. I was passing by and saw it in Belinda's rubbish bin. It's an old issue. A few months." Theseus's voice lowers into one of brotherly concern. "I may not know exactly what happened before, but I know that woman's not good for you, Newt. She wasn't good for you then, and I highly doubt she's good for you now."

Newt clenches his jaw and walks out of Theseus's office. He angrily tosses the magazine back in the rubbish bin, where it belongs. The headline taunts him as he walks away.

 _Bestselling Magizoologist Scamander Finds Lestrange Love!_

ooo

Newt settles back into his old life comfortably enough. He agrees to a few more signings and speaking engagements here and there, but the demand is quickly whittling down, for which he is grateful.

Reinvigorated by solitude and the company of his creatures, he begins to plan a trip back to New York. He intends to spend a week, maybe more. He has all the time in the world now, and the thought both excites him and makes him nervous. He has not heard from Tina in some time now, though it is likely because he had also been away and unable to write.

He's in the middle of writing to his publisher to inform him of his upcoming absence when an owl arrives for him from New York. Newt's fingers fumble from trying to open it too quickly, and he curses as he cuts himself from the envelope flap. Finally, he is able to open it, and he pulls out not a letter, but an invitation.

All of the air in the room disappears.

ooo

Newt arrives in New York with the invitation burning a hole in his pocket, but he makes it there.

New York is different to him this time. The people seem angrier, the sky seems murkier, and the city has lost what little luster it held for him during his first visit. It feels teeming and suffocating, and every bit of noise hurts his ears. Newt is self-aware enough to know that his new consciousness of the city is likely a manifestation of his own tumultuous feelings – which he finds impossible to escape. Thus, by an act of emotional transference, the city of New York undoes him, just a little bit. Every bit of New York reminds him of Tina, even the parts that didn't used to, before. It feels like peeling back still-unhealed scabs.

To get past the sharp ears of one Mrs. Esposito, the Goldstein sisters had set up a hidden Portkey in the back alley of the building. Newt silently makes his way over, looking for a lone, old boot. A rat scurries by him, and he finally finds it. He crouches down before he hesitates. Perhaps he could go back. Nobody had to know he had ever come.

But the thought of seeing Tina pulls him in by the points of his ribs – or so it feels like – and he reaches out for the Portkey and his body lurches into nothingness.

ooo

When he arrives inside Apartment 104, his ears faintly ring from the loud chatter and laughter coming from the direction of the dining room, and he is yet again enveloped by his own uncertainty. He shuts his eyes tightly, and when he opens them, Queenie is there, smiling at him from the doorway.

She bounds across the room to pull him in for a welcome embrace. "Mr. Scamander, how lovely for you to join us. It's been too long!"

Queenie pulls back, her smile so convincingly beatific that Newt almost assumes she has stopped herself from reading his mind. He knows better, however. _People are easiest to read when they're hurting,_ she'd once told him. He catches a flash of it in her eyes before she turns around and motions for him to follow.

She slides the door open to the dining room, revealing him to the people seated at the dining table. Newt's eyes instantly land on Tina, and for a moment, he feels as if he has been transported back in time. He tightens his grip on his case handle to subdue the sudden tremor in his hands.

"Newt! I'm so happy you came," Tina exclaims, immediately getting to her feet, her smile wide and her dark eyes dancing. Newt rests his weight back on his right heel, overwhelmed by the vibrato of his racing heart. A man stands up next to her, broad-shouldered and grinning.

"This is Charles," Tina gestures, and Newt feels his pulse staccato through his legs. "My fiancé."

* * *

Please review! This is part 1 of 2.


	2. Part 2

Part 2

Charles Magnolia, Newt discovers, is also an Auror. An Alabama native, he had started his Auror career in the South and made numerous notable accomplishments that eventually caught the eye of Madame President Picquery, who then offered him the job on her investigative team to fill the vacancy one Percival Graves had left behind.

"Truth is, I hadn't been in New York seven hours before Tina was yelling at me for taking her case files at MACUSA," Charles chuckles good-naturedly.

A lovely shade of pink steals itself across Tina's pale cheeks. "I didn't know who he was," she defends. "I'd gotten into the office early to get a head start, and all of my case files were missing from my desk. Madame Picquery hadn't told us you'd be coming so soon."

"How romantic," Queenie giggles, and Tina sends her a dry look.

"I'm sorry – I thought romantic liaisons weren't allowed in your department," Newt says, and everybody stops to look at him.

"It typically isn't," Charles says, chewing slowly. "Tina and I – we kept it quiet for a long time, until we decided to tell Madame Picquery about it. She wasn't happy about it, of course, and she mentioned she might have to temporarily reassign Tina after her case was done, but—"

"I'm hopeful that I'll get to stay," Tina says, with enthusiasm. "After all, Charles and I never act unprofessional around each other at work, or even do so much as hint at preferential treatment."

Tina catches Newt's eye here and something unspoken passes between them before she quickly looks away and takes a drink. Tina is no Legilimens like Queenie, but he can sense she knows what he is thinking. _You love your job. It would kill you to be taken off the investigative team again._

"Enough about us," Charles says jovially. "I'm quite a fan of yours, Mr. Scamander. When Tina told me she was friends with you, I could hardly believe it."

"Yes, well – Tina saved me from a great deal of trouble when I was here. I'm greatly indebted to her and her sister."

"That very may well be so, but you did quite a lot for the great city of New York yourself – helping catch that Obscurus, revealing Grindelwald, and using diluted Swooping Evil venom to Obliviate all of the No-Majs' memories – genius play, if I may say so myself. Tina here only has praises to sing about you." Charles leans back, his easy laughter rolling off the breadth of his shoulders. "So much so that for some time, I have to admit - I was a little bit jealous of you. I hear of nobody else that Tina talks about that way – aside from Queenie, of course."

Queenie beams, her chin propped on her palm. "Gee, thanks, Teen."

Newt's almost afraid to look at Tina, but he manages to, and she has taken to fussing with her silverware in her embarrassment. He feels a painful clench around his heart. _I hear of nobody else that Tina talks about that way._

They carry on their conversation with Newt trying to the best of his ability to be polite and cordial to Tina's new fiancé. Charles Magnolia is accomplished, charming and intelligent – Newt can plainly see why he was plucked by Madame President Picquery all the way from Alabama. He almost even reminds him of his own brother, Theseus. They certainly had the same broad-shouldered, confident build and easy smile – except with dark hair and a syrupy Southern accent. Newt is about the exact opposite of his brother; it only makes sense for him to surmise that he is likely also the exact opposite of Charles Magnolia.

At one point in their conversation, Charles casually drapes one arm over Tina's shoulder, and Newt tries his best not to visibly flinch.

Queenie nudges him with her elbow. "Hey," she whispers so that only he can hear. "You haven't touched your food all night, Mr. Scamander. I promise it's not poisoned." She winks at him before she sits back up, rejoining the conversation.

At her prompting, Newt takes a few bites. Queenie's meals had always been hearty and delectable, and this one is no exception. He knows that she knows the current state of his appetite – nonexistent – but is grateful she's reminded him to act as _normally as possible_ , as to not arouse any suspicion. He has already caught a few inquisitive glances from Charles Magnolia, which Newt gladly ignores.

ooo

Charles leaves after dinner at a decent enough hour, but only after asking Newt to sign a few copies of his books for him. "My nieces and nephews love your book," he tells him, as Newt autographs the cover page. "One even claims he'll be a magizoologist someday."

Newt forces a smile. "Brilliant. We could do with a few more of us. There are loads more animals in need of care and protection."

Charles grins. "I'll let him know he has your blessing."

Tina walks Charles to the door, and Newt turns away, shifting his eyes to Queenie, who has magically cleared the table. He watches as the glistening plates stack themselves neatly back into the cupboard.

He hears the door shut and Tina's footsteps as she joins them back inside the dining room. Queenie summons them some tea. Tina slips into the seat beside him, tiredly smiling.

"Thank you for autographing those books for him, Newt. It really means a lot."

"That's no problem. It's part of the job, I suppose." His teacup fills up with steaming tea, and Newt fiddles with the handle. Now that Charles is gone, the apartment reverts to the way he remembers it – quiet, soft. Comfortable.

"I heard from Sasha Hawkins that you helped out the Ministry by quelling the giant rebellion," she says. When Newt raises one eyebrow at her, she continues. "Sasha's our European Relations Liaison at MACUSA. She keeps tabs on what the Ministry's doing."

Newt nods. The Ministry had also created a similar position as a liaison to MACUSA, ever since it was discovered that Grindelwald had hopped continents in order to evade the law and veil his plans.

"Yes. My brother Theseus asked me to."

"I'm sure glad I only found out _after_ you'd gotten home safely. I'd heard about the bloodshed. If I'd known you were walking into that—" Tina becomes lost in thought, biting the inside of her cheek. "I'd have been worried sick."

"Yes, well," Newt says, a bit pained, wrenching his gaze away from her expression, "all's well, and I'm still in one piece."

"Yes," Tina exhales, smiling. Newt again must look away. Seeing her happiness so close blinds him – as if he's staring straight into the sun. It feels different now, knowing that her happiness – present and future - involves someone else. "That you are."

After a moment, Tina rises to her feet, yawning. "I'm sure you're exhausted after your voyage. You're free to bunk in there. Queenie and I will share her room. Please make yourself at home." Tina begins to turn away before she stops. "Just – you know. No unleashing any creatures, if you can. Mrs. Esposito is very sensitive to impending chaos."

"Of course," Newt says.

Tina takes another step and pauses again. She turns around, wringing her hands. "I'm happy you're here, Newt. For the past two years, it just felt like we kept missing each other. I'm glad we didn't, this time."

There's a glint in her eye that Newt catches, but Tina's turned around before he can investigate any further. He watches her until she disappears behind Queenie's bedroom door.

He almost forgets Queenie is still in the kitchen with him until he looks up, and she is still standing by the stove, holding her cup of tea with both hands.

"Please don't read my mind, Queenie," he says tiredly. With Tina gone, Newt unfurls - he feels defeat roll over him like an Erumpet, and he slouches in his seat, exhausted.

"Too late." She tries to smile reassuringly, but it's tinged with sadness.

"Then, if you don't mind – I'll be going to bed." He stands and grabs his case, leaving his teacup on the table, untouched and forgotten.

"You're wondering if it's too late," Queenie says, nearly a whisper - just audibly enough for him to hear. She shakes her head. "I don't think I'm the person who can give you that answer, Mr. Scamander."

"I'm not expecting you to," he mutters.

He hears the faint clink of porcelain behind him as she sets down her cup. "She waited for you, you know. She was perfectly content being patient. I could feel that she thought what you two had was special. Tina's loyal that way."

Queenie pauses here, and Newt can tell she's reading his thoughts, deciphering his feelings. He tries to recoil - uselessly. He wonders if his pain surrounds him like an aura to Queenie – if it is that palpable, that obvious.

"When that photograph came out of you and Leta, Tina didn't see it until weeks later. Sasha Hawkins' desk is next to Tina's, and she likes to keep up on the gossip overseas, so she gets all of the magazines you guys do – just a bit later due to the owl travel. I guess she had it on her desk."

"That was - nothing," Newt says firmly, stumbling over his words. "Leta and I did see each other for a bit - but as old friends."

"You hold hands with all your friends?" Her innocent tone is a little too heavy-handed.

"No," he admits. "But that wasn't what it looked like. Nothing happened. Leta knows..." he sucks in a raw, aching breath. "She knows about Tina."

Something settles in the air between them. An understanding. Queenie knows he is telling the truth. It is a long minute before she speaks again.

"Strange, isn't it, Mr. Scamander?" Queenie says, sadly. In the silent room, her voice glides over to him like crushed velvet. "The things that happen when we aren't looking?"

ooo

The Goldstein sisters rush off the next morning, gulping down their coffee like water. Newt is left to his solitude and descends into his case to check in and prepare feed for his creatures before he needs to return to the real world in order to make his appearance at Telltale Tomes for a signing. He spends a few hours there before wandering the streets of New York. He notices there are still a few Second Salemers around, waving leaflets and warning disinterested passersby about the evils of sorcery, and it makes him think of Credence, and of how losing the young boy had deeply affected Tina. She had written to Newt about the nightmares she still had of that day, even now. Newt had seen the connection Tina had felt with Credence, and it had made him wonder about Tina's own parents, if perhaps she had seen something in the young boy that had reminded her of herself.

Newt feels uncomfortable staying in the Goldstein's flat by himself, so he explores New York until the shadows from the buildings grow long and people begin to filter out of the sky rises. He buys a box of pastries from Jacob's bakery and uses the Portkey to get back into the apartment.

Newt hears movement in the other room as he sets down the pastries on the dining table.

"Queenie? Is that you?"

He instinctively moves towards the direction of Tina's voice, seeing the door to Queenie's room open by just a crack. He peeks in but the tip of his foot grazes the edge of the door, and the door slowly creaks open, prompting Tina to turn her head.

There, in front of a floor length mirror, Tina Goldstein is standing in her wedding dress, the tiny room bathed in the glow of the sunset from her window. It is this sight of her that makes all of the voices in Newt's head go silent. It's perhaps a simple dress, a cascade of pale cream silk and some pearl beadwork that subtly wink at him from where he stands, but Newt has never seen anything so magnificent, so perfect, in his entire life, that it nearly breaks him right where he stands.

The sound of her voice boomerangs him back to reality. It takes him a moment to catch up, to understand what she's asked of him. Not that he finds himself currently able to answer her.

Newt instead steps inside the room, the dingy wood rasping under the weight of his foot, echoing that of his heart. "You look…"

 _Like a dream. The best dream. A dream I never ever want to wake up from._

Tina blushes shyly, turning back to her reflection. "Queenie's been working on this for me. She's amazing, isn't she? To think, all I asked for was a white dress," she says, smoothing the ripples in the silk, her brown eyes dreamy, "and this is the beauty she comes up with."

Newt is not aware of his steps as he crosses the room, but he soon finds himself standing behind her in the mirror. Her veil is still laid out on the bed, delicate and ethereal in the golden light. Newt realizes that this is the first time he has ever seen Tina Goldstein's shoulders, and he thinks they are the most exquisite shoulders he has ever seen. His chest impossibly tight, he attempts to slowly and silently let out his breath. Goosebumps rise on her skin, right on the apples of her pale shoulders.

He looks up and catches her eye in the mirror, and he feels the shift in the air around them. It becomes heavy with the unsaid, and pulsates with every second that ticks by. There's something in her eyes that gives Newt hope – like something coming out of hiding, something coming back to life.

She smiles at him gently, her voice barely a whisper. "I think you should wear a blue suit."

"To what?"

"To your wedding," she says, and her smile falters, just a little. "Blue's a good color on you."

Newt's throat starts to burn. "Tina –" he exhales painfully – but then he is cut off by the sound of the door to the apartment opening and shutting, and the singsongy greeting of Queenie punctuated by the clicks of her fashionable heels on the floorboards.

"Teen, I'm so sorry I'm late – I had to beg the dressmaker to let me in to get more of those pearl beads," she says, dropping her bags on the table, before she stops abruptly. It is clear Queenie has just gotten a read on the room, and she blinks at the two of them.

"That's all right," Tina says, and she avoids Newt's eyes as she steps away, lifting up the hem of her dress. Newt catches a glimpse of her bare feet.

Queenie floats into the room, and with another _almost_ tucked into his pocket, Newt makes his way to – somewhere, anywhere. He escapes back into his case, where he finds the nearest wall and tries to crush himself into it, to nearly disappear into it, clenching his teeth.

 _She's getting married_ , he says to himself. _To someone else._

He tries to swallow down the acid that creeps up his throat at this, to relax every muscle that tenses like a coil inside his body, but it feels like a curse, almost like dark magic. Except it is not, and he knows this. No, this is something much more primitive.

 _No_ , Newt thinks. _This is love._

ooo

Despite the late hour, Newt isn't asleep when he hears it. A soft shuffling, the whisper of movement. He raises his head, blinking in the darkness, as he sees a figure cross the dining room to the front door.

" _Lumos_."

Tina balks, covering her eyes from the light. She had thrown her gray coat over her pajamas. "Newt!" she whispers harshly.

He sits up in bed. "Tina? Where are you going? It's not even light outside."

"I can't sleep," she tells him. "Nerves, I think. I'm just going to go take a walk."

Newt throws the covers of off him and shrugs on his coat. He steps into his boots. "You're not going alone."

Even in the dark, he can almost hear her roll her eyes. "I can handle myself. Go back to bed."

But Newt is already beside her, not willing to take no for an answer, and she mutters to herself in annoyance before she grabs his arm and they Disapparate.

Tina Apparates them to the entrance of Central Park. The place looks different to Newt – it's still the beginning of Fall, so nothing has frozen over yet, and even in the dim lighting of the sparse streetlamps he can make out the lush foliage. With a simple _Alohomora_ , the lock clicks open, and he and Tina sneak in past the gates.

Newt is both amused and concerned. "Do you always come here for a stroll in the middle of the night?"

"Sometimes. When I can't sleep or I have a lot on my mind," she replies. "During the day, the park's always crowded. Which isn't a bad thing - but at night, it feels different. Calm. Free."

He sneaks a glance at her as they walk down the path. The planes on her face are smooth, but faraway, deep in thought.

"This is my favorite place in New York – ever since I was a kid. Aside from the hot dog stand on 5th, anyway. When Charles asked me where I wanted to get married, this was the only place I could think of." Tina chuckles to herself. "Partly because it'd be pretty unheard of to get married in front a hot dog stand."

Newt bites back the urge to tell her the truth, which is that he, Newt Scamander, would happily marry Tina Goldstein anywhere. Central Park at midnight or subway station or 5th Avenue hot dog stand. But he doesn't say this, just like the way he doesn't say the many of the other things he means.

"Would he not let you?" he asks instead. "Charles. Would he not let you get married in front of a hot dog stand?"

Tina grins, endeared by the sincerity of his question. She hops over a crack in the cement, and their shoulders brush against each other's, creating friction. There, even underneath his clothes, the tiny nerves inside Newt's skin hum.

"Charles's family is coming here all the way from Alabama. I've already got one strike against me for being a New York City girl. Everyone in Charles's family have all been born and raised on the other side of the Mason Dixon line. I'd hate to be the reason he gets disowned."

"I think," Newt says, "you should get married wherever you want to."

Tina glances at him, her eyes shining in the moonlight. She tucks her hair behind her ear. "Central Park will do just fine."

They continue walking through the vast, empty park and cross a bridge above water. Newt agrees with Tina about Central Park at night. There is something majestic about it, quite mesmerizingly curative. He gets a peek at the stars through the eaves of the trees. He has the urge to reach out, to hold her hand – but he knows he cannot. Her hands are not for him to hold, not anymore.

"Before, you mentioned that because of Charles you might have to be reassigned from the investigative team," Newt says, quietly. "You love being on that team."

Tina's tone is solemn. "I do. But sometimes, to make something work, you have to make sacrifices. Besides, I'm hoping that if I do real well on this case, Madame President Picquery will decide I'm too much of an asset to let go."

"You _are_ too much of an asset to let go," he says, and he does not realize just how much he means it until he hears his own voice, urgent and impassioned. Tina also catches this and raises her eyebrows. "Surely Madame Picquery will think long and hard before taking you off of the team."

She smiles again, a shallow smile. One that leaves him too much room to wonder. "Perhaps you can write me another letter of recommendation."

"I'd be happy to."

They lapse into silence, the sound of their footsteps scuffling against the ground. In the background, they are serenaded by the hypnotic lullaby of crickets. He is glad for the meager orchestra. He thinks absolute quiet would be agonizing. Too much space to think.

Tina speaks up this time, but she keeps her head down and hides her eyes from him, her hands in her coat pockets. "Why didn't you bring Leta? You were more than welcome to."

Newt had forgotten all about Leta. Perhaps this is what people meant when they talked about moving on.

 _It's hard to think of the shadows when you're staring at the sun_ , he thinks.

He tries to swallow away the sudden tightness in his throat. "Leta's… preoccupied."

"Oh." Tina's voice, at first, sounds airy. But Newt's ears have acclimated to the quiet, and he easily hears its tremble. "That's too bad. I would have liked to meet her."

It's almost too much for Newt then. He can feel Tina's closeness, her warmth brushing up against his arm, his shoulder. There, in the vast emptiness of Central Park, he feels his heart tethered to her – rocking back and forth on its heels, fists clenched, needing to be closer to her - impossibly close. Newt raises his arm halfway to stop her, to ask her to stay still so that he can focus, and for once, fight through the _almost_ , but Tina's ankle gives out on something on the path and suddenly she is no longer in Newt's direct line of vision.

Newt shoots out his arms, catching her by her waist, and she tightly grips onto him. Newt's breaths muss her hair, and instinctively, fluidly, after the threat of danger has passed, her body relaxes and finds itself flush against him. Her hands do not let go, and neither do his.

Tina keeps her eyes closed. He senses it's because she's afraid. He's afraid, too, of a million things at once. He's afraid that once she opens her eyes, she'll straighten herself up and pull away. He's afraid of missing his chance – after missing all of his chances. And lastly, he's afraid – Newt Scamander, capturer of Obscurials, protector of magical creatures, queller of giants, traveler of the world – is afraid he will never, ever be this close to her again.

When her eyes finally flutter open, he recognizes what he sees - longing, or something awfully like it. This is what breaks the binds in his chest. This is what propels him into bravery – desperation. He reaches up and cups her cheek softly, and Tina lets out the tiniest of exhales.

His voice nearly cracks under its own weight. "Please don't marry him, Tina."

She tenses in his arms, her eyes searching his. "What did you say?"

He repeats himself, steadier this time. "Please don't marry Charles."

"Why are you saying this?"

"Because I've been the biggest idiot on both continents – for a while now. Since I met you. I thought I could come as your friend and be happy for you… but every minute here, seeing you, knowing you're about to belong to someone else – it's excruciating. And I know I should have said something earlier – earlier than earlier. Because now we're here, and you're—"

" _Getting married_." Tina pulls away from him, untangling herself. Newt's palms burn from the sudden loss of contact. "I'm _getting married_ , Newt. It's the _eve of my wedding night_. Do you understand that?"

She steps back, away from him, but he can still see her face, partly illuminated by a street lamp. Tears are brimming in her eyes.

"Do you love him?" he asks, even though he's terrified of the answer.

"Of course I do," she says, a little too quickly. "Charles is a _good man_ , Newt. He's caring, and he's kind, and – he never waited around for two years for the most inopportune moment to reveal his true feelings for me." Tina harshly sucks in a breath, and it rattles her whole frame. "Do you know what he said to me after our first date? He said he knew the moment he met me."

Newt clenches his jaw. "Well, I'm sorry, Tina – I'm not Charles. It took me a little longer to get here, but it doesn't mean my feelings for you are any less true. We can't all be Charles Magnolia."

"You're right, Newt," Tina says, shaking her head, "you're not Charles. Because if you were, it'd be you I'd be walking down the aisle to, tomorrow. You would be wearing a blue suit. And it'd be you and I – you and I getting married."

Tina's cheeks are shiny, and he watches as she holds back a sob. Raising a hand to her mouth, she turns away. "I have to go."

She only makes it a few steps before she freezes, his voice echoing through the brisk night air.

"I love you, Tina Goldstein," Newt hoarsely calls out after her, and this he does with every bit of power inside him, every bit of intention and strength. His chest heaves from the impact of the release. "I'm madly, insuppressibly in love with you. I'm just sorry it took me so long to get to you. I know – I know I'll regret it every day of my life. But the truth is, I haven't stopped thinking of you since I left this city, two years ago." He sighs brokenly, defeatedly. "For what it's worth."

In front of him, Tina's head bows, her shoulders shaking. She says nothing before she Disapparates with a _Pop_ , and there, in the vastness of Central Park, Newt is left all alone.

ooo

Newt returns to the apartment an hour later and silently packs up his things. Everything is still and dark around him. He knows it'll be light outside in just a few more hours.

He fishes out the folded piece of parchment from his coat pocket and leaves it out on the dining table. The letter is creased and worn out from the places he's brought it along for the past two years, but it is still legible. This he knows.

He writes another note to leave with it. An apology, a goodbye, an explanation. All of the above.

 _Tina,_

 _This letter belongs to you. I wish I had been brave enough to send it the moment I'd written it. Instead I've kept it with me with the hope of someday giving it to you in person._

 _Please forgive my absence from today's festivities. I believe it would be the best thing for the both of us if I excused myself. I've been able to withstand all sorts of pain thus far in my life – most, I admit, at the hand of disgruntled animals – but I do not think I could survive seeing the woman I love marry someone else, no matter how worthy the groom. For the both of us, I dare not take the risk._

 _I'm sorry for everything. I've been a fool – about many things, but especially you. Charles is a good man. He will make you happy. I'd very much like to see you happy, Tina Goldstein._

 _Thank you for your friendship and hospitality._

 _Newt_

He folds it up and addresses it to her. Then he grabs his suitcase and goes.


	3. Part 3

Part 3

Solitude, Newt is convinced, was probably his first language. He'd always favored being alone or with creatures (ideally, being alone _with_ creatures) for as long as he could remember, so much so that he can now boast of having made a career out of it. Not every animal-loving loner outcast is so lucky.

But solitude is different after New York. It becomes less of a relief and transforms into something deeper, sadder - loneliness. A very specific kind of loneliness. It envelopes Newt, thick and woolly and dark, and he finds himself out of any and all compelling reasons to leave his home, even at the persistence of his brother and the affectionate concern of his mother. He devotes himself to his work and his animals, hoping that over time, it'll transform into a salve and help close the wound.

Sometimes, at night, he wonders about Tina. He imagines her happy. He wonders if Madame Picquery had ended up keeping her on the team, after all. He nearly gets up to grab a piece of parchment, to send off that letter of recommendation – but Newt stops himself, and he tightly shuts his eyes.

And he makes himself let go.

ooo

 _I know you're reading my letters, Newt. I need you to come to the Ministry. Foul stirrings with the giants again. Don't make me lock you in your case and bring you over here myself._

Newt is not exactly enthused about it, but after two months of absolutely zero social interaction, he makes himself somewhat presentable and makes it out to the Ministry under the blatant threat of kidnapping from his dear brother. The truth is, Newt finds the thought of going back to the giants rather appealing. It would be a good distraction, he thinks, even with the risk of maiming and possible death.

Newt enters the thirtieth floor reserved for the Auror offices with no fanfare. Auror types were not the fawning type. Whatever glances they spare Newt's way is brief and filled with disinterest.

Theseus is out of his office and chatting over someone's desk when Newt approaches him. He clears his throat.

"There you are," Theseus chortles. "I was starting to think one of your creatures had devoured you."

"That's ridiculous. There are very few creatures who find the taste of human flesh appealing."

This, of course, means nothing to Theseus. "Yes, well. Jolly good to know. Let's go into my office." Suddenly, Theseus's eyes land on something behind Newt, and he sighs. "But first, let me introduce you to our newest Auror. Came all the way from America – highly recommended from Picquery. When the news got out in the press about all the bloodshed from the giant rebellion, it scared away a lot of the new recruits, so. Luckily for the Ministry, news travels slower when it has to cross the Atlantic Ocean."

An insufferable habit - Theseus loved to introduce Newt to the new Aurors at the Ministry. He thinks this is because Theseus is still convinced that one day, Newt will wake up and realize his true professional happiness had actually depended on the grit and good work of being an Auror all along.

Theseus knew better, of course, but there was no stopping Theseus Scamander from inconveniencing his brother in the most trivial of ways.

Newt, interested only in getting to the bit about the giants, turns around.

A slender, bobbed brunette with smiling eyes holds out her hand to him.

Newt's heart grows rapidly to fill the entire expanse of his chest.

"This is Miss Porpentina—?" Theseus trails off, having already forgotten the name of his newest Auror.

"Goldstein," she says.

Newt feels the whole universe exhale with him.

ooo

 _A few months later_

Theseus Scamander stares suspiciously at the envelope his brother has placed at the very center of his mahogany desk.

"I wanted to deliver yours in person," Newt tells him, slightly out of breath. Theseus does not tell him this, but Newt's newfound happiness both relieves and unnerves him. It is difficult to get used to, this Newt. It was not a bad Newt. It was not even a completely different Newt. Just… Newt in love. _Happily_ in love.

With an Auror, no less.

Newt walks towards the door of his office before he stops and turns back around, as if suddenly remembering something.

"Oh, and don't be alarmed – there'll be a hot dog stand at the ceremony," Newt tells him, hurriedly. "Have you ever had a hot dog from New York? Don't worry, they're quite good."

Then, without a goodbye, his brother turns around and leaves his office. Theseus pins a finger down on the white envelope and slides it over to himself, opening the flap.

He is only alone for a few seconds when he is visited, yet again, by the sound of footsteps. Newt is back – or, at least, his head is. Just his head, jutting into his office from the doorway. His eyes sparkle delightedly. "Oh, and I'll be in a blue suit."

Then he is gone. For good this time, Theseus thinks, and he opens up the envelope and carefully pulls out the invitation.

 _You are cordially invited  
to the wedding of  
Porpentina Esther Goldstein and Newt Artemis Fido Scamander_

Theseus leans back in his seat and begins chuckling to himself. "Belinda, will you please get Tina in here?" he calls out to his secretary. He mutters to himself, still smiling. "I'd like to congratulate my future sister-in-law."

Belinda doesn't miss a beat. "Right away, Mr. Scamander."

 _Fin._

* * *

 _Please review if you feel so inclined! Thanks for reading!  
_


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